


like a broken record

by EJ (girlwitham4carbine)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: It'll make sense promise, Kagerou Project AU, M/M, it's kagepro you know the deal, it's more of a collection of AUs, sorry about the sad in advance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-12 11:47:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3332198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlwitham4carbine/pseuds/EJ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a stunning story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. a story that will overwhelm your eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> a story that will overwhelm your eyes.

_Blood. So much blood_. _It assaulted his senses, vision spotting with so much red and his throat constricting from the stench sticking to his tongue. He was pretty sure he had vomited, his body trying to force the disgust (and guilt and disbelief and anguish) from itself. Everything was hurting, and he was definitely going to pass out._

_The last thing he saw before his mind was gone completely was the blood soaking into that perfect brown hair glowing like a halo._

It took Iwaizumi a long time to realize just what was going on. It gave a whole new meaning to the term ‘endless summer’; their vacation stretching months, years, decades at this point. Most teenagers dreamed of something like this; the notion of unlimited time, unlimited summer vacation making them feel invincible. But this _thing_ (A time loop? Some kind of messed up limbo between life and death? Was this actually hell?) just left Iwaizumi feeling hollow, defeated, never more aware of how truly invincible he wasn’t. He felt like a failure, each time Oikawa was ripped from his fingers and lost to whatever merciless fate they had fallen into.

At first he thought they were nightmares. The same days ( _August 14th, August 15th, August 14th-_ ), over and over and over again, as if he was doomed to repeat them like some sort of eternal punishment from the gods. _Only nightmares_ , he would repeat over and over to placate his racing heart, racing mind, his body covered with sweat and eyes burning with tears each time he came to. His hands scrambled for his phone ( _12:28pm, 12:04am, 12:28pm-_ ) for something, _anything_ to hold on to and tell him that he was here, that this was real. He’d see a text from Oikawa, telling him to “Hurry up and get outside! It’s summer vacation Iwa-chan!” or “It’s too early to sleep, I’m bored!” and it would ground him, convince him that the heat must have been playing cruel, cruel tricks on him again.

But they kept happening, kept changing. The truck going too fast down the road, to the iron poles from the construction site above them, to the stairs by the station, to the scissors, to the train, to the pills-

“You know, Iwa-chan.”

They were side-by-side, sitting on a swingset far too small for two high schoolers to be lounging on.

It was familiar.

Oikawa Tooru (his captain, his best friend, _someone who didn’t deserve this_ ) was wearing the same thing as always; an old tank top tight to his chest, and some even older basketball shorts that were the only clean ones he had lying around.

It was the same.

Right down to the blinding smile that Oikawa used to hide whatever it was he needed to hide from the world. (But not from Iwaizumi, never from Iwaizumi.)

“I kind of hate summer.”

He listened - always listened - to the honesty in his voice and the seriousness in his eyes. Iwaizumi was never sure if Oikawa knew what was happening to them. If he was aware of how many times they had met up this afternoon, how many times they had this same conversation, worn the same clothes, talked about the same stupid things. If Iwaizumi figured it out, then Oikawa must have long before him. He was smarter, could see the patterns and connect the pieces together. He was born to analyze, and this showed in how he watched each player in a volleyball match, how he watched his teammates, classmates, even Iwaizumi until he could learn all he could. He definitely should have figured it out by now. But Iwaizumi could never be so sure. The look in his eyes would be gone within instants, his voice back to its usual light and joking tone.

“It feels like my brain is melting! And there are never any cute girls around, so I’m stuck with you- OW!”

“Don’t look so serious when you say something so stupid, shitty-kawa.”

His smile was bitter, his insides disgusted that he was the least bit happy that Oikawa - stupid, dumbass, watchful, _amazing Oikawa_ -was still the same even in this eternal hell. Iwaizumi stood from the swing, walking away from those feelings and the whines of ‘Iwa-chan, so mean!’ He didn’t dare go towards the intersection ( _the speeding truck, the spray of blood),_ nor the pathway to the shopping district ( _the iron poles, the ripping screams),_ nor the stairs to the station ( _the frightened look in his eyes, the crunching of bones_ ). He felt cornered and hopeless, even with Oikawa getting up from the swing to stand right beside him in the middle of the park.

(He just wanted to grab his hand, hug him, hold him tighter and tighter, even face all the teasing and poking and cries of ‘Iwa-chan!’ if he would never have to let go.)

He couldn’t do much, could hardly make a single move in this twisted game without being forced to see the boy beside him fall into Death’s cold embrace once again. But this time, as he felt Death and fate and whatever it was that had put them here, inching closer and closer, he dared to speak.

“Everything’s always the same.”

This time - instead of the screams, the vomit, the tears, the blood - his voice was the one mingling with the wind chimes.

“But maybe this time will be different.”

He turned to Oikawa, who was smiling soft and sweet, not dazzling like the one before. It wasn’t familiar, and Iwaizumi felt light. His body started to feel warm (like a warm bed on a cold night, like volleyball practice after school) until it felt like he was on fire, chest burning and limbs smoldering, flesh scorching and nerves screaming in pain. He wanted to scream, cry, close his eyes and let this finally be over. But instead, he reached for Oikawa’s hand and he kept his eyes on that small smile, right until his vision faded and it felt like he was floating.

That night, Iwaizumi dreamed of smashed clocks and winter.

 

 


	2. a story of turning your eyes away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a story of turning your eyes away.

“There’s no point, is there?”

_That’s not true_ , Hajime wants to say. He wants to refuse, yell and scream like a child at his words (call him a dumbass, like some time long ago). But he stays still, watching and waiting behind the screen.

“There’s no point in getting hurt over and over again right? It’s too troublesome.”

Oikawa’s voice sounds raw, and Hajime knows he’s been crying. He knows Oikawa’s been crying every single night as he wastes away in here, in this same small room for the past days upon weeks upon months. He’s known these things about Oikawa Tooru almost as long as he’s been ‘alive’ - perhaps even longer (Perhaps when he wasn’t a cyber-being with no legs confined to a teenage boy’s computer monitor. He wonders if they had been friends.) He was drowning, drowning in his memories of the past. It’s no doubt painful, and once again Hajime wants to shout at him to stop holding on so tightly, to start moving on already. That _he_ wouldn’t want him to be sitting here like this, that none of them who are now gone would. (But why does Hajime know that? He wonders if he had been one of them.)

_You just love the non-reality_ , Iwaizumi thinks. Oikawa seeks solace in his computer, in fantastical worlds where things like tragedy and loneliness are hardly an issue. He puts on his favorite mask - one with too wide of a smile, too bright of eyes - and escapes the drowning for as long as he can. Hajime watches him, watches him avert his eyes and try so hard to ignore the weight of the past on his shoulders.

“Why do you look so bored, Hajime?”

Now Oikawa is watching him, eyes sharp and predatory as they look at him behind the screen. Hajime considers telling him- considers being harsh and cold and telling him the only true way to escape the pain he’s buried so deep in. But Hajime can’t help him, can’t help him do much of anything. So he throws away everything he wants to say, to yell and scream and cry out, and offers him an escape.

He holds out his hand, and it hits glass.

“How about we create a fake world together?”

Oikawa falters for a moment, and Hajime smiles - smiles because maybe Oikawa won’t be so sad anymore. Maybe he will be able to stop drowning and come up for breath. (He wonders why he cares so much.)

“Forget about the past, and just focus on me. It’s too troublesome, right?”

Oikawa says nothing as he watches Hajime, and it feels like time stops as they stare into each others’ eyes. He wonders if he will accept his offer, if he will let himself be happy for once in his life. Hajime hopes he finally will.

But the boy’s gaze turns dark, and it feels like daggers pierce Hajime’s very core. _Why?  Why is he looking at me so coldly?_

Hajime feels himself begin to crumble, as if his entire being was unraveling and becoming undone. His hands and arms begin to disintegrate, pieces cascading around him like small beams of light. It hurts, it hurts so damn bad, and his vision spots with black.

“I don’t- I don’t understand!” He finally cries out, screaming while his throat fights against him. He feels sluggish, like his mind getting dragged down into the same place Oikawa was drowning in.

“I’ve gotten bored of you.”

Oikawa looks as if he’s about to cry, and Hajime wonders if he could have done something different.

He sees Oikawa bring a pair of scissors up to his neck, before he finally slips into nothingness.


End file.
